a quick poem

Quick decisions
Are the hardest to make.
If I think it through,
It could be too late.
If I act now it could
Devastate.
No time to think
Just enough to act
But fear of loss
Holds me back
But not too move
is even worse.
You can feel the end coming
On a large pale horse

The Boredom

My body senses it Before I do.
Legs prick,
And arms tingle.
I stretch out sore muscles
That haven't moved
For hours,
And rub my burning eyes.
Then I understand.
I feel it.
It starts in the back
of my clouded mind;
Numb from endless battles;
What can I do to make it go away?
Eat? Eat what? Will it really help?
Sleep? How long?
Will it still be here when I wake up?
I could leave but I have no where to go.
Unsure of what else to do,
I just get up and walk around.
But it doesn't fix it.
It won't go away.
It's still there.
Itching.
Burning.
I fight it, but it's to late.
It's here to stay

Broken

My little broken toy
With your warn edges
And faded colors.
At first glance
you seem fine,
But looking deeper
you're barely held together.
What were you like
When you were new?
Shining?
Alive with wonder?
Someone must have
played with you, a lot,
To be so rough.
You've lost all your joy,
My broken little toy.
I wanna take you
Fix you
See for myself
what you were like
Before you were broken.

Sunshine Nostalgia

When I'm with you
I feel like me,
But being me,
Is being scared to breathe.
Because that would mean
That i'm alive
And this is not a dream.
That this heavenly place
Can so easily turn
To heartbreak.
But it's a chance
I'm willing to take

Your Ghost

I held hands with your ghost today.

Though, you’re not dead.

Yet I felt you here, next to me

Like you always were

On this memory-stained bed.

On your back, arm behind your head

Other hand laced loosely into mine.

I felt you softly lift our hand-knot

And felt the whispered kiss 

on each of my knuckles

Like you used to. Every time.

It was as real as if you were here

But you aren't

And haven’t been

For over a year

The Soaring Cost of a Simple Breath

A New York Times article by Elisabeth Rosenthal

My darling little girl, taking

On the whole wide

World

One precious

Breath at a time.

Prescription prices rising,

But we pay

And pay

All the same.

All to help her breathe

A little wheeze,

Come on sweetie

Inhale, exhale

Please just breathe.

Asthma attacks

Or breaking the bank?

My baby’s life

Should not have a price.

But she needs

Those prescriptions.

The money is tight

But her chest is

Tighter.

She needs help,

And we need help

Giving it to her,

I won’t eat, and

I can’t

Breathe,

until

She can.

731 South Baker Street

I stand in the wide stare

Of clouded, sun-yellowed panes.

Age-worn glass, wise, weathered 
with life.

Age-wrinkled frames

Urging me to see

What they have seen.

What has happened here?

What all have they witness?

I can look into them,

Beyond the surface into

Great depths or gaze

Back at the familiar,

Naïve reflected face.

I stand in the wide stare

Of these panes

Trying to see, to learn

All of what they can teach

About the world.